


marble keepers

by mynameisnotmac



Series: Hurtling through Time (Darling Please be Mine) [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling, Depressed Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, ciri loves her sad dads, he's just a witcher trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23499832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnotmac/pseuds/mynameisnotmac
Summary: Jaskier's fights his own monsters, Geralt does his best, Ciri wants to help. Told from Ciri's POV
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Hurtling through Time (Darling Please be Mine) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684915
Comments: 32
Kudos: 497





	marble keepers

**Author's Note:**

> Have some Ciri and her dads on the road because I frickin love a found family. Enjoy!

They’ve spent the night at an inn on the edge of Rinde. Neither Geralt of Jaskier seem particularly pleased to be here, but it’s the largest town they’re going to come across in a while, and Geralt’s said he won’t be able to put up with Jaskier’s complaining of the camping all the way up to Ard Carraigh (their current trajectory for the moment) so here they are. The water is heated, and the food is something other than game, so Ciri has nothing to complain about.

She scrambles up the stairs from the bathing room, hair still wet from her morning soak. Ciri knows she let herself sit for too long, but the luxury of a hot bath was something she couldn’t pull herself away from. Besides, Geralt can’t really be mad at her no matter how grumpy he pretends to look. When she doesn’t hear footsteps behind the door, she assumes Geralt and Jaskier are packed and waiting or already downstairs, so she’s surprised when she turns the handle to find both of them still in bed.

Geralt’s pack is half made up and he’s dressed, but Jaskier hasn’t appeared to have moved since she went downstairs nearly forty minutes ago. He’s got his face smushed into Geralt’s thigh who’s sitting bent over him, talking quietly at him; at him, because it seems like for once Jaskier has no response, other than a few nods of his head. Ciri can’t make out what Geralt is saying, just the low gravelly tone of his voice that pauses every minute or so to wait for a shake or nod of the other’s head. He looks up as the door squeaks on its way shut. “Glad you finally decided to join us.” It doesn’t sound like teasing to anyone outside this room, but Ciri knows. Geralt pushes off the bed, squeezing Jaskier’s shoulder before he rises. “I’ll be back, we’re not leaving today.” He says to both of them.

Jaskier makes no attempt to move from where Geralt left him on the bed. This isn’t right; Jaskier is always moving. Despite how he always creeps into the room in the darkest hours of the night after having been singing downstairs long after she’s gone to sleep, she can count on him to be up and chattering in the morning, flitting about the room, even if he’s yawning as he goes. Carefully, Ciri makes her way up to the head of the bed, sitting down on the floor beside it. “Jaskier?” After a long pause, Jaskier pulls his head from the pillow, blinking back at her. It’s hard to recognize him as Jaskier like this - he’s not happy or angry, his face is for once still as a pond. “Are you sick?” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, little highness,” he says, but his voice is so  _ heavy.  _ “‘M just a little tired is all.” When he realizes this doesn’t satisfy her he drags a hand out from beneath the covers and rests it on the top of her head. “I’m okay Ciri, I promise. This is just something that happens sometimes.” There’s a twitch to Jaskier’s lips and Ciri realizes he’s trying to smile for her. “Geralt is probably getting breakfast downstairs, you should go join him.” He gives her a little nudge as he lets his hand fall limply down. “I’m not going anywhere, just going to take a little nap, not at all interesting.”

Ciri watches his eyes shut, still seated on the floor. She takes his arm from where it hangs off the bed and tucks it up beside his body, patting his hand. Concern washes over her, but she does as she’s asked and goes to find Geralt.

As Jaskier predicted, he’s at the tavern bar, a board of bread and cheese in front of him. Ciri hops up onto the stool next to him and he wordlessly slides the board towards her. “What’s wrong with him?” She asks around a mouthful of bread.

Geralt grunts, picking a piece of cheese off the board. “I don’t know.” 

“Should we get a healer?”

“It won’t help.”

Ciri frowns “Then what do we do?” 

He glowers into his ale cup. “Hell if I know.” 

Both of them are facing forward, frustration evident between them “Jaskier always takes care of us, we have to take care of him too.”

“I’m trying!” Geralt growls, then sighs, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I want to help him too, but there are some things you just can’t fix.”

Ciri rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, it’s fucking complicated.”

Geralt turns to face her now. “Hey, don’t say fuck.” he realizes his mistake a second too late. “Shit - arrgh.” He takes a moment to collect himself. “Look, this happens every now and then. Jaskier just gets...sad like this sometimes. It usually passes in a day or two.” The woman behind the bar walks over and sets another small breakfast platter in front of them. This one has some grapes on the side. “We’re here, we’re resting, it’s all we can do.”

There’s still fight left in Ciri, but when she looks over Geralt looks so sad, she decides it’s best to leave it. “I just wish we could do more.”

The light knock of Geralt’s knee against Ciri’s is a small comfort as he gathers what she assumes is Jaskier’s breakfast. “Me too.” He says, softer than usual. Standing, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coin, setting it on the table in front of her. “Here, it’s market day in the square. Put your hood up and go see if you can find roach an apple.” The coin is quickly joined by two more. “And for if you see something else that looks good.” 

He’s gone before she can thank him. Their coin has to be tight right now. With the extra night at the inn, and Jaskier not performing last night, they can’t have too much to spare, but she knows Geralt won’t take it back now that he’s given it to her so she pulls up her hood and makes her way closer to the center of town.

The market bustles around her as she makes her way past vendors hawking all manner of wares. She passes the stalls of linen and cloth, tables of finery, or what would pass for finery outside the royal halls of Cintra, finally coming to baskets full of produce. Plucking an apple from the top of a barrel, Ciri examines it for bruises or worms - only the best for Roach, she knows. Satisfied, she turns to look at the other fruits. 

It’s been a good summer, cool but bright, the ending of the season blessed with large, beautiful crops. Her eyes wander over cartons of berries, the bottoms of them stained with dark juice. The raspberries, Ciri’s favourites, look particularly ripe and delicious. She’s about to reach for them when she spots at the end of the stall, a crate of giant peaches.

Upon closer inspection, they look near perfect, hardly a mark to be seen on any of them. She holds one in her hand, not too firm, not too soft. Ciri looks back at the raspberries, feeling the coins in her pocket. There’s not enough for both of them she knows. She stands in front of the stall for a few minutes debating, but then she remembers that peaches are Jaskier’s favorite, and after that, it really isn’t a choice at all.

The inn is quiet when she steps back inside. Other than a few barflies, the tavern is empty, the lull between lunch and dinner. She climbs the stairs to their room, pausing in front of it when she hears voices behind the door.

“You can just go on without me” It’s Jaskier, or some dulled tired version of his voice anyway. “Find a monster to hunt in the next town and I’ll catch up.”

There’s a low grumble from Geralt, but there’s no heat to it. “The last time we parted that way, I didn’t see you for three months.” There’s a pause. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You had a contract to chase.”

“I was an ass.” There’s a soft hum from Jaskier. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Not today.”

Whatever Geralt says next is too quiet for Ciri to hear through the door, but then his voice calls out again, “Are you going to stand out there all day?”

Ciri jumps, ears turning pink as she realizes she’s been caught listening. Sheepishly, she pushes the door open, one hand tucked behind her back. “Roach says thank you for the apple.” she says, hoping she’s not in for a lecture.

Other than raising an eyebrow, Geralt doesn’t chide her for it. “How was the market?” He asks instead.

“Busy, uneventful.” Ciri closes the door softly behind her. “How’re you feeling Jaskier?”

Jaskier is curled up against Geralt’s shoulder, where the witcher has them both leaned up against the headboard. “I’m okay.” He tries to assure her. He looks a little more alert, but still nowhere near looking like himself. 

Ciri makes her way to Geralt’s shoulder at the bedside, revealing her hand from behind her back. “I brought you something.” She says, holding the peach out to Jaskier.

It seems to take a moment for Jaskier to realize what’s in front of him. He looks up and gives her the barest hint of a smile. “Thank you little highness,” he drops his face back into Geralt’s shoulder. “I’m not really hungry right now though.”

Geralt’s eyes go soft as he takes the fruit from her hand, “Go get my knife for me, it’s at the top of my pack.” Ciri does what’s asked of her, noticing the untouched bread and cheese on the table next to the saddlebags. She watches as Geralt cuts a sliver and holds it out to Jaskier. “You should eat.” When Jaskier makes no move to take it, he places it in the bard’s hand himself. “You’ll be glad for it later.”

Eventually, he gets Jaskier to eat the slice. Then another, and another. Piece by piece the peach disappears until all that’s left is the pit. Geralt wipes the knife on his pants before dropping it and the stone on the floor beside the bed, frowning as the act does nothing to elicit a response from Jaskier.

Unable to sit on the sidelines any longer, Ciri toes off her boots and clambers up onto the bed with them. The bed’s not made for three, but she settles herself rather ungracefully so she’s sitting in the gap between Geralt’s knees. He grunts as he takes a knee in the calf, but other than that doesn’t say anything. She’s also quiet as she takes Jaskier’s hand in both of hers. It’s sticky from the fruit, but she doesn’t mind.

Jaskier closes his eyes, still tucked up against Geralt. The witcher has his arm resting around Jaskier’s shoulders, hand coming up to rest on the top of his feathery hair. For the first time today, he looks halfway to peace. “How lucky I am to have such a wonderful pack of wolves to look after me.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
